Strange Mirror
by Darkiepunk
Summary: Vergil wants to understand himself, but to do that he must understand his choices and his reasonings. Drabbles, thoughts, all Vergil.
1. Opposing Forces

Demons and humans have very few things in common.

That was something of a litany to me. However, I've learned that this is simply not the case. Perhaps it is because I, myself, am half-human. Maybe I am one of the few demons that thinks like a human, or one of the few humans that think in demon terms. Is this why you side with them against your own blood, Dante?

Regardless, for demons and humans alike…the pinnacle of concern is always one thing: power. It was this that got me into trouble, that led me down a dark road of insights into my own self, a progression of happenings that led me to a conclusion as to my character, and my anti-thesis.

You.

My brother. My twin. My living mirror.

I have always been the cold, silent one, while you were the warm, charming one. It didn't bother me; and I'll have to say that it still doesn't.

You're fiery. Your passion for life, women and that god-be-damned pizza burn as vividly as the garish red you favor in clothing. However, brother, fire consumes everything it touches. It envelops it, cocoons it in misleading warmth before searing and singeing it beyond recognition, and perhaps even beyond redemption.

The concept of yin and yang, the dark and the light, the hot and the cold permeates everything in existence. The balance of opposites. Without darkness there is no light, etc, etc. If you study one extreme of the spectrum, you learn much about the opposing force.

And so, by categorizing you, brother, I learned much about myself.

If you are fire, I am assuredly ice.

Have you ever watched a glacier? A rhetorical question, of course, you've never had the patience or attention span to sit in one place for any length of time. You may think you are looking, merely observing a stationary object, but that is untrue. You are witnessing an act, a motion so subtle, so patient and painstaking that it appears not to be moving in the slightest. In the grand course of time, however, you can see the fruition of its efforts.

If that is what I am, I can find no faults in it. My actions will have a lasting, noticeable effect as I carve my name into the annals of history. Meanwhile, you will be a flash in the pan, so to speak, as your loves, your rages and sorrows consume you and those you foolishly surround yourself with; mortal, mobile tinder with yourself as the flint.

And I will be there to watch you burn.


	2. Sparda's Legacy

Power.

It is still a driving force in my life. I have only recently come to terms with my reasonings, though, brother. Perhaps it is the Sparda blood; perhaps this is the legacy our father left for us.

An overwhelming protectiveness. An unyielding urgency to protect and hide away what is most cherished.

I didn't realize what pushed me in my search for power until I had nothing left to protect. Mother was killed before my very eyes, you…I did not know where you were. In the best scenarios you were slain, quick and efficiently, in the worst you'd been tortured long after my eyes closed due to bloodloss, father's sword slipping from my failing fingers.

I woke up to death. It was everywhere. Mother had managed to take some demons down with her last remnants of strength. They apparently thought I was dead and vacated our home.

It was bad enough they'd attacked us, but to do it in our home? It was sacrilege. It destroyed any illusions I had of the home being a safe haven. The monsters were not just under the bed; they were in the closet, under the stairs, at the front door. They were there, and they were real, and I was powerless to stop them.

If father had been there, he surely would have repelled their attack with ease. That was the first stirrings of my quest for power, specifically father's.

Power controls everything. Without power…you can protect nothing. These were the words I hissed at you when we fought. True then, true today.

Along the way, my journeys after Mother's death, through the Temin-Ni-Gru, my original goals were lost amidst a sea of greed. I can admit this now. But pride, and still, greed kept me from saying anything as we fought and I lost, slipping away into the darkness of the underworld.

Any amount of time in Hell, brother, is an eternity. And it is an eternity in which you have much time to curse yourself for past mistakes.

My return was…nothing short of a miracle. I still don't understand it, and I likely never will. I brought with me lessons of the past; lessons I thought were learned.

But I was wrong.

Old habits die hard. Is that not the saying? My relentless desire for power remained, but the thoughts behind it were fully realized. I only wanted to protect what was mine. I wanted to do in my adulthood what I could not do as a child.

I wanted to keep what little family I had left. Ridiculous, but true. You very obviously can take care of yourself. I know this. You have bested me many times in the recent past. But that is beside the point, isn't it?

Is it not the older siblings' duty in life?


	3. The Lair of Judgement

Author's Note: Yeah, this isn't following in the footsteps of the first two, but it still gives a glimpse into Vergil's character. This is basically a novelization of the cut-scene before Mission 10, right before Vergil goes into the Lair of Judgement. I had a lot of fun doing this one; Vergil is just such an interesting character. So you can look forward to more of them, and they will be put in chronological order as they come.

Arkham was a fool. Useful some of the time, but mostly he was a fool. Vergil didn't mind, though, at least not until he started prattling on about the 'glorious edifice' and the power of the demons.

He was mortal, what could he know?

Well, he was mostly mortal, anyway. Vergil wasn't really sure how to classify him.

"The craftsmanship…" he was saying, eyeing the walls with interest and something akin to lust. "It's exquisite. The minds of these people, the blood of the peons, the imagery…" Vergil started tuning him out at this point. Once the older man started waxing poetic, Vergil had no interest.

"Arkham, enough. Where is he?" Vergil asked, breaking into Arkham's litany.

Arkham sobered, managing to hide a sneer of distaste as the elder Sparda spoke, "From what I understand, he should be reaching the Opera House about now."

Vergil nodded slightly, making a non-committal noise of amusement as he and Arkham made their way towards the Lair of Judgement. Once the portal to the demon world was opened, Vergil would be able to acquire the power of Sparda.

Then he had a couple of scores to settle. He stood by and watched as Arkham flipped through his precious tome, looking for a way to unlock the ancient doors.

Vergil was confident that the succubus in the Opera House would take care of his erstwhile brother. Dante was notoriously hedonistic, and the succubus boasted of enough experience to quell even Dante's desires. She'd propositioned Vergil as he passed through on his way up the Temen-Ni-Gru, and he blithely ignored her the way he did everyone else. She was good to look at, maybe, and Vergil had needs, too. However, he, unlike his brother, had a modicum of self-control, and felt the dangers far outweighed the possibly limitless pleasure this creature could bestow upon one such as himself.

He would be indebted to no one. His cravings were sated with foolish humans, much as he hated to admit to it. He wasn't idiotic enough to fall in with a high-ranking demon seductress. That sort of pleasure quickly turned into a means of control, an addiction.

The low rumble of the locks disengaging broke into Vergil's thoughts, just in time to hear the last remnants of Arkham's soliloquy. "And the one who will lift the incantation is you, his own son. It must be fate…" he trailed off as the doors swung open, releasing centuries-old dust into the Obsidian pathway. The room inside was dark, almost abysmal and Arkham stood off to the side, deferring to Vergil with a bow that was only slightly mocking.

The elder Sparda lifted his chin proudly and strolled past the bald man, feeling rather than seeing his hesitance and subtle glance behind them. Vergil bared his teeth into the dark room before him in what could hardly pass as a smile. The old man had been casting furtive glances around behind them ever since they'd left the top of the tower, and he'd had his encounter with that human female.

"Does that woman really bother you?" he asked finally, the words cold and mocking, almost hanging in the air as if carved from ice.

There was a quick intake of breath behind him, "What are you talking about?" Arkham spat indignantly.

Vergil stood with his back to Arkham; he didn't think the older man would pose any threat. "Why didn't you kill her? Perhaps because she's your daughter?" He paused for effect, then continued caustically; "Did some pesky fatherly love get in your way?"

He could hear Arkham shifting behind him, there was a rustle of pages and Vergil realized the old man was edging closer to him. "That's none of your…" he seethed, but didn't get to finish his thought, as Vergil whirled on him, driving his beloved Yamato katana into his chest, just below the diaphragm.

Vergil was no expert at human anatomy, but he'd executed this maneuver countless times. He suspected that he'd sliced through the diaphragm, and as Arkham gurgled his way through a breath, expelling blood on the hand that still held the katana, Vergil silently added a nicked lung to his assessment. He leveled a cool look at the other man, not withdrawing the blade as he spoke.

"To further your study of the black arts, you sacrificed your loving wife," he paused and took a moment to sneer, "To become a devil as well. Knowing this I thought you'd be more useful to me, but I was wrong. No wonder your attainment of power is incomplete." He sneered at the weak human impaled almost to the hilt of Yamato, then as an afterthought gave the exquisite katana a sharp twist and drove it further through the man's slim torso. There was only a mild satisfaction to be had when he felt the base of the blade grind on a rib.

Blood trickled out of Arkham's lips as he fixed Vergil with an acidic glare. The eldest Sparda was somewhat impressed he could even focus his eyes, much less speak. "What about you? You're an incomplete being as well." Vergil's upper lip curled arrogantly and Arkham continued, not missing the look, "Both demon and human blood mingle in your veins."

"Shut up." Vergil basically spat the words, withdrawing Yamato's blade in a spray of blood and with a deft flick of his wrist, sent droplets of Arkham's blood to splatter on the walls. He smirked to himself as he reverently replaced Yamato in its sheath, and was satisfied to hear the muffled thump of Arkham's now-lifeless body hitting the stone floor. "Now that the final door is open, I have no use for you." Vergil commented dryly into the empty corridor before he strode forward into the Lair of Judgement.


End file.
